


Traveling is More Fun With a Navigator

by hurinhouse



Category: White Collar
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurinhouse/pseuds/hurinhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming together is a beginning; keeping together is progress; working together is success ~ Henry Ford</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traveling is More Fun With a Navigator

Test number one: Check. The kid can manage a snatch and run with no one the wiser. He was plenty delighted with himself, but he seemed more engrossed in flirting with the cashier a few blocks away than checking in with Moz after. That little sport might become a problem but this is hardly the kind of money-maker Moz strives for anyway so he future-files it under ‘something to nip in the bud.’

"Uh… you wanna put a shirt on?" 

"What?" His pecs or decs or whatever they’re called stand out while he downs a water bottle, catching his breath. All that shiny slimy skin has got to be harsh on Mozzie’s retinas.

"I'm not comfortable with nudity."

“I’m sweaty,” Neal shrugs, wiping his chest down with the kitchen towel. Mozzie reminds himself never to use the linens here and wonders for the fifth time how old this kid really is.

“Ah, perspiration. An unfortunate result of running and another thing I’m uncomfortable with.”

"What _are_ you comfortable with?" 

“Peppermint tea. And the complete works of John Locke.”

Neal snags a seemingly clean shirt from the makeshift dresser and the blinding glare disappears.

"A little discretion goes a long way in this business, Kid. Plus, there'll come a day when you'll be glad you kept your skin protected."

"From?”

“You’ll see.”

It’s not that Moz can’t do the work himself. He’d likely land a position in Adler’s company; would probably get something juicy like butler or administrator. But he wouldn’t get under Adler’s skin, wouldn’t wow him. And that’s what it’ll take to get that password. 

But this kid… 

_“Just eyeballed it.”_ Right. Who does that? 

Card tricks and picking pockets are small time and he’s cocky, too confident. If he can’t move up from ripped jeans and cheap pizza he won’t be of any use. And yet, Neal’s smarter than most, sucks in information like a crack addict with an endless supply of spoons and he keeps his history to himself. So he can be groomed. Mozzie looks over his wine collection and his chess sets and the array of ties he’s built up from random businessmen’s “lost” luggage.

Much to do, much to do.

 

* * * * * 

 

The air is like glass cutting into his throat and his leg is on fire. But he’s toast if he slows down, if some well-meaning beat cop sees him. Six blocks to November if he can stay in the crowd, otherwise he’ll have to keep going to March. 

Everything’s a mess. The job’s in shatters and he’s lost his new-found partner. The kid had been skeptical from the beginning, but when the knife had appeared, he was a goner. 

_”Do you use weapons?”_

_“I’d rather not. A man has to defend himself, though.”_

_“I don’t use them. I won’t.”_

_“Fine by me, Kid.”_

He’d been working him up, getting him ready. (Just because Neal can score $5,000 for a phony bond doesn’t mean he can pull off a long con.) Now he’ll need to find another front man.

He trips on a crack in the sidewalk of all things and he can already feel the crush his knee’s going to take when he hits the ground. But someone catches him before he makes contact, and hauls him back up.

“Easy.”

Huh. He knows the kid took off earlier. He closes his eyes against the dizziness, regains some composure, “Why are you following me?”

“Just trying to help, Mo-”

“No names! I can take it from here.”

“You’re going to hop through Manhattan?”

Four and a half more blocks. He’ll have to burn November if he accepts the help, but he’s sure as hell not going to the-

“I’ll get us a cab to the hospital.”

“No! Just… Alright, since you need something to do, let’s go this way.” And Neal takes his arm, just like that, steers Mozzie through four blocks of businesspeeps and tourists and doesn’t mention the probably fatal gaping knife wound in Mozzie’s thigh even once.

\- - 

He should have splurged for a bed here. Hindsight. Neal stares at his bloody pants as Moz lies back on the couch. Mozzie needs the words “train wreck” pasted on his face. 

“Set that teapot to boil.” The first word gets the kid moving.

“There’s a bathroom over there. Supplies under the sink. Just bring the whole basket.”

He’d like to blame Neal for the mess this job became but it was just a fluke. It happens, cons are a risk. Right when the mark was handing over the coin for Moz’s “adjusted” price of $600, Lamdale showed up with a knife. Scared the crap out of the mark, who took off with the coin, and Moz’s “partner,” who followed suit, though he can’t blame the kid too much as he was on the other side of the bridge so not in a position to help. He caught up to him pretty quickly afterward, though. 

He should have smoothed things over with Lamdale months ago. He wasn’t a good bridge to burn. Now, not only does Moz not have the chance to sell the merchandise at $30,000, but he’s also out the $600 he’d paid the mark.

“Can you take your pants off?”

He must have drifted. He looks down at the blood soaking his pants. “What did I tell you about nudity?”

Neal raises his hands in surrender. 

“Alright, just turn around,” Mozzie concedes.

Neal does so, busying himself with checking on the teapot, the stuff in the basket. Moz can’t get the damned things past his hips.

“Okay, you can do the rest.”

Neal turns back and peels Moz’s pants down his legs, stops at his ankles.

“Oh for Darwin’s sake, don’t leave them there!” To the kid’s credit he doesn’t balk, but unties Mozzie’s shoes and dumps them, along with his trousers, on the floor. Then he crouches beside the couch, eyes on the long jagged gash in Moz’s thigh and reaches for a band-aid of all things. “So, this one?”

It could be that it’s not as dire as Mozzie’d thought. Probably no arteries were severed and maybe it’s slightly superficial, although you never know what kind of poison might be lurking in his veins, depending on Lamdale’s weapon-cleaning habits. 

“We’ll have to clean it.” 

Neal nods. 

“And then stitch it.” 

Neal’s eyes flick up sharply at that, a thread of fear in them. Ha! A thread. 

“I know, it’s not the prom or the arcade or- “

“I’m not sixteen.”

“You sure?”

Neal glares at him and collects the boiling teapot and a bowl, washing his hands before coming back. Okay, so Mozzie doesn’t actually need stitches, and he won’t let it go that far, but he hasn’t been able to pull much over on the kid and he deserves some sympathy entertainment after his day.

\- - 

Three games in and Neal’s picking up chess more quickly than Moz is comfortable with.

“So when’s our next job?”

Moz scoffs. “I’m going to have to resort to some grunt work to pay for today’s failure.”

“What failure?” Neal pulls something shiny from his back pocket, grin slowly lighting up his face.

“Where did you get that?” Moz grabs it, studies it: 1969-S Lincoln Cent. He checks Heads… the side is doubled, all except the mint mark. It’s the real thing.

“The mark tripped while he was running away from the guy with the knife.”

“He tripped.”

Neal shrugs, “I helped him up. Must have just fell right out of his pocket.”

Moz runs his finger over the penny’s finish. Smiles. He has his front man.

 

* * * * * 

 

“I hear the Suit’s been asking around about you. He has a sketch.”

“Where’d he get a sketch?”

Moz waves it off as a given, “Oh they always have a sketch or a print or something.”

The shock on the kid’s face is a good sign. He’d hoped the news would wake him up.

“Look, it’s time to finish this job, and move on.”

Neal had been messing around with that girl for weeks. And therein lies the problem: immerse yourself in the character so it’s first nature, but don’t get emotionally attached. He should have known Neal was a rookie in that particular catch-22, though he’s not sure he wouldn’t have sunken anyway. He needs to learn to keep his heart under lock and key.

“I’ll get the password, Moz. I will.”

How can blue eyes still remind him of a sad puppy? Moz has to get away from him. Right now.

“Good. Well, I’ve some surveilling to do, so… “

“A new job?”

“Nah, personal stuff. See ya.”

The trek uptown to his rooftop patio is full of guilt and then resentment that he should feel guilty at all, and then more guilt. He’s just doing what it takes to get the job done. Five months work with no payoff is not good business. Someday down the road the kid will thank him, if he ever finds out.

The embers are smoldering ash now. He shakes the little grill to accelerate the process. A momentary spike of panic spurs him to search through his entire sketchbook one last time. Yeah, he can draw, too. He knows it’s all blank, but he checks for traces of Neal’s face or the Suit’s office address, for indentations of them on the remaining pages. 

Ah what the hell; he sprinkles in more lighter fluid and throws the entire book onto the grill. You can never be too careful in business, or mentorships.

 

* * * * * 

 

“Where’ve you been?”

Neal raises a brow (Moz has always wondered how he lifts just one) and he looks at his imaginary watch, “Did I miss curfew, Mom?”

“Funny. You’re wasted.”

“Pleasantly buzzed. So?”

He’d watched them from the window. It reminded him of a date, what Mozzie saw of them: Keller walking Neal to their hotel, regaling him with stories while Neal stood under the streetlight with his hands in his pockets. They’d laughed before that, stumbling slightly, which was what drew Mozzie’s attention. It would have been adorable except that Moz doesn’t trust Keller and it’s not romance Keller is seducing Neal into. If it was about sex, he wouldn’t care. Well, he’d be disgusted maybe. It's Keller. 

“Neal, you’re letting your guard down every time you go out with him.”

Neal snickers. Not the smooth sly smirk he saves for his cons, but an inelegant, almost teenage snort. Moz thinks he should probably be flattered that Neal feels that comfortable with him. 

“Out with him? I think my virtue is safe, Moz.”

“What virtue?”

“It’s reconnaissance, not interrogation. Having fun is good cover.”

“Keller doesn’t have fun with people, Neal. He uses them. This ‘fun’ is a calculated act.”

What happened to Neal’s classic mistrust? The first time Neal had met Keller he went away with that obstinate gleam in his eye, ready to take him on. Keller’d stepped in it the first time he’d opened his mouth… _“I see you’ve been to the pound, Mozzie. Better have him declawed if you want me to babysit.”_

And now they're what? Drinking buddies?

Neal waves Mozzie off now, annoyed, and saunters toward his room, the effect diminished by the slight waver in his step. Just as Moz is about to go out to clear his head Neal’s back for more.

“How’m I going to perfect this game if I don’t play it?”

“In here, in private, away from prying eyes and wandering weapons.”

“I have yet to see any violence. You’re wrong about Keller.”

“Sure, it’s the sober guy’s judgment that’s off.” He’s tired of arguing. “So you declined about the other job?” 

When Neal doesn’t answer Moz is ready to punch him. “Neal!”

“It’s an easy grab, Moz. Into Scotland and out in two hours. Security is comical.”

“Neal, we agreed. It’s bad enough you’re doing this backgammon thing here with Keller. But Scotland? You don’t even know this Scottish guy.”

“Mozzie. Are you… jealous?”

“Of?”

Neal stops a moment, mulling over his words, then forges ahead with, “That you’re not fronting the museum job.”

“First, I’ve never been a front man. Do you ever look at me? Second, I’m more of a London guy than Dublin. And third, I’m only helping with the backgammon thing to keep you in line.”

“In line. Like, under your thumb?”

“Your brain went to ground with Kate.”

“At least she appreciates it. How many women are attracted to a brain revolving around alien conspiracies and government code cracking?”

“That’s low, Neal.”

“That’s how I’ve felt since I walked in here. And while I’m at it, Keller and I can do the casino on our own.” 

He shoves through the door. Mozzie can hear him taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator right before the room door snicks shut. Neal’s been reckless since Kate left him. Scratch that... _more_ reckless.

Moz sags down into the chair by the window, sipping the Bordeaux from dinner. He packs away the backgammon set. Before he goes to bed, he unseals all of Neal’s paints and leaves them near the fan.

\- -

“Moz!” 

“Hmph?”

“Mozzie!”

Someone is yelling through the suite, getting closer each syllable. Water laps over the side as Moz sits up and… Aw, his book is ruined. He reaches to the bottom of the tub-

“Moz?”

“What? In here.”

The bathroom door slams open and Neal charges in, breathless. For a split second his eyes are wide and his face is white and Moz remembers where he is and what he’s not wearing. 

“Don’t come in here!”

As usual Neal cares nothing of modesty as he rushes forward and seizes Mozzie’s arms.

“Hey!”

“You’re alright?”

“I _was_. What’s all the yelling about?”

“Time for a change of scenery.” Neal scrambles around Mozzie’s bedroom, pulling out clothes and throwing them through the open bathroom door.

“What’s going on?”

“Later, Moz. Come on!”

The water taxi driver keeps stealing glances at them and what a pair they make. Mozzie’s skin is as wrinkled as Judi Dench - fantastic actress, by the way. And Neal… Neal has a haunted look across his face. He’d instructed the driver to take them near the train station, in the longest most convoluted way he could think of, and that was the last time he spoke, twenty minutes ago. 

Mozzie should have stopped the kid from going to Scotland with Keller. The Dentist can be effective when need calls for it. He scoots closer, lowers his voice, “He had a gun?”

Neal nods.

“I’m sorry, Man.”

Neal nods again. “The passport was in his pocket the whole time.”

“Whose passport?”

Neal just shakes his head, rests it on his arms and looks out across the river.

“I’m sorry, Moz. You were right.”

That’s when Mozzie realizes that Neal Caffrey has never been an alias. Neal Caffrey is a survival mode.

 

* * * * * 

 

The door opens and Neal’s white grin struts into the loft like he’s won the lottery. A stolen lottery. Neal wouldn’t be so dumb as to accept legitimate lottery winnings. Sadly, he wouldn’t steal them anymore either.

"Found it."

"Whatever it is, I'm not buying. You know how many chemicals are in those plastic containers?"

“Moz,” Neal insists, in that tone that might say aliens are coming or where did you take my latest bottle from Sotheby’s? “I found it.”

Mozzie’s world closes in just a bit and he’d like to get some air on June’s balcony but he can’t move.

"How can you be sure?"

"Look.” Neal sets various statements for a trust account on his own table beside Mozzie’s hummus. “All these years the money’s just been sitting there.”

Mozzie checks the oldest date, “You’ve been tracking this for seven years? Since that envelope came to me?”

“Well it wasn’t as easy from prison but you’d be surprised what men will do for sketches of a dubious nature. Anyway… “ He sets the latest statement on top. “Someone drew some out last week. Right here in New York.”

Mozzie drops his chip.

“Moz, we don’t have to do anything. It’s your call.“

Mozzie feels like his eyes are stuck on the widest notch in the Jaws of Life. He can hear Neal drop into his vacated chair before he gets halfway to the balcony.

\- - 

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"We can go back."

“We might.”

“Do you want me there?”

“Maybe.”

\- -

"Mrs. Spaulding?"

"Why? Who's asking?"

"My name's Nick Halden from Halden and… Haversham. This is my associate Dante Haversham.”

“Okay, and what do you want?” 

She’s younger than Moz had imagined. She had to have been sixteen, seventeen, at the time. His palms are sweaty. He’s glad Mr. Halden’s the designated speaker today.

“Did you live in Detroit in the mid 60s?"

"Why?"

“There’ve been some blips in the trust account you set up. Some money withdrawn.”

“Yes, that was me.”

When Mr. Halden waits for her to continue she seems annoyed. She has a small mole on her neck and her house is a salmon color that hurts Mozzie’s brain. Maybe it’s a hiding in plain sight technique he’d not considered before.

"How did you find me? I told them I didn't want my identity revealed. I just wanted to have an old acquaintance found and given some money. That was years ago.” 

An old acquaintance?

“But you started drawing on the money this year.”

“He hasn’t taken it so I thought he might be… "

“Dead?”

“Well, I would hope not but… “

Moz can't hold back any longer-

"Yeah well your _son_ doesn’t _want_ your money and he never had the privilege of making your _acquaintance_!”

Neal turns to him, eyes questioning because Moz had said he didn't want to out himself yet. He can’t look at Neal and go through with this at the same time. “Mr. Halden, I’ll take it from here.”

“Are you sure Mr. Haversham?”

“I am.”

\- - 

"So?"

"What?"

"How did it go, Moz?"

"She doesn't appear to be an alien or have any communicable diseases."

"No ties to the Russian mob?"

"Not that I can tell."

He was just here at Neal's yesterday. He thought everything would look differently today. It doesn’t.

"You going back?"

"Uh… I don't know."

"So, any siblings?"

"Turns out, yes. Living in Canada."

"Wow, Mozzie that's great."

He shrugs.

"Not great?"

"It's like you said, Neal. Family doesn't show up after thirty years. Or more."

Neal's smile is warm. He pours Moz some Merlot and pulls the chess set over to the middle of the table, away from the stripe of sun that always blinds Mozzie this time of the day.

"White or black?"


End file.
